Take It For the Team
by Silver Weasley
Summary: When Oliver Wood goes mental after one particularly horrible practice, Katie Bell sets out to prevent concussions, death by homicidal Quaffles, and hypothermia. As it turns out, she's in for a bit more than she bargained for. [KatieOliver oneshot]


**Take it for the Team**

_Disclaimer: _

Yeah right. I _wish_ I owned this. Lucky J.K. Rowling...

**_Summary:_**

When Oliver Wood goes into obsessive-psycho mode after one particularly horrible practice, Katie Bell sets out to prevent concussions, death by homicidal Quaffles, and hypothermia. As it turns out, she's in for a bit more than she bargained for. KatieOliver oneshot

**A/N:**

So, yeah, this is my first attempt at writing Katie/Oliver (I've read qutie a few fanfictions about them and really like the idea), and this didn't turn out exactly as I'd planned. For one, it went on about four pages longer than I expected and I had a really hard time thinking of an ending, but...yeah. I had fun with it, if nothing else. Enjoy (hopefully).

--

"Your turn."

Katie Bell turned to George (or was it Fred?) Weasley, folded her arms, and scowled.

"I did it last time!" she protested. "And the other times before that! I even did it when we thought he was going to drown himself in the shower—come on, George, I'm tired and I'm freezing cold and I want to go back up to the castle and drink a good strong mug of coffee. Someone else go!"

"Just for general information, the name's Fred."

"_What?"_

"He's not George, _I _am," piped up one of the Weasley twins, who was busy toweling his sopping ginger hair dry.

"I'm obviously the better looking one," Fred stage-whispered to Katie. "How you get so confused, I haven't the faintest idea…"

"You prat, I'm most _definitely _the one who inherited the killer Weasley looks. Your face is far too freckly!"

"Stop avoiding the subject," Katie snapped, glaring from one completley identical twin to the other. She turned to the rest of the team, who were all very busy avoiding her eye and scrambling to change out of their soaking Quidditch robes. "Oi—_one minute there! _Why me, huh? Surely someone else…!"

"Look, Katie, you're the only one he pays any mind to," Alicia Spinnet said helplessly. "I'll save you some coffee, all right? I promise."

"I swear I'll do it next time," Harry Potter added sheepishly. "Just—er—hurry up, will you? If we're not careful, he'll knock himself out."

"And serve him right," Katie muttered under her breath. "Well, _fine. _But you owe me one, got it?"

"Got it," the entire team responded as one. Angelina Johnson even offered her a mumbled apology, and the twins called,

"Take it for the team, eh, Katie?"

_I've 'taken it for the team' one bloody time too many, _Katie thought savagely, squinting out the locker-room door through the rain. Thoroughly aggravated, she drew the hood of her cloak, shouldered her broom, and stalked back out to the Quidditch pitch.

This had _better _be quick.

--

Oliver Wood was maniacal, Katie concluded as she fought her way through the heavy rain and wind. Only a true freak would be _this _ridiculous in _this _weather.

It had started with the abysmal practice. This damn thunderstorm was not exactly ideal to fly in—the Seeker couldn't see the Snitch, the Chasers couldn't catch the slippery ball, the Beaters' aim was horribly off, the Keeper couldn't save so much as one goal due to the fog and pouring rain—and Gryffindor's Captain and resident Obsessive Compulsive was nervous as hell about the final match, which was still a good three weeks away. He'd shouted at all of them at the end of their six-thirty A.M. practice, and then had announced that he was mostly disgusted with his _own _playing and had done what maniacal, Obsessive Compulsive, freakish Quidditch Captains do best: elected to attempt to improve his technique (_in a thunderstorm_) by charming eight Quaffles to chuck themselves relentlessly at him. He would only be satisfied when he had saved every single one ten times each, which was unlikely considering they all zoomed at him at once, and he usually had to swerve out of the way to avoid being slammed in the head continuously.

Katie normally liked talking to Oliver a great deal, not only about Quidditch, but about everything. They were good friends, and Oliver was smart and witty and oftentimes sweet—but when he was in _this _sort of a mood, it was best he was left to his own devices.

Unfortunately, a side effect of Oliver being left to his own devices was, in this case, concussion.

Katie thought that a good whack upside Wood's thick skull might knock some much-needed sense into him, but that might result in him falling from his broom, which meant falling a very, very long way to the ground, which meant that he'd either end up in the Hospital Wing or die. Both cases meant he would be unable to participate in his last Quidditch match and win the Cup for Gryffindor, which meant that Oliver Wood (or his ghost) would be extremely pissed off, which meant that he would crawl out of his hospital bed (or rise from the dead) and kill her, and possibly the rest of the team.

Which was kind of not appealing for some reason.

This, in short, is why one Katie Bell found herself goaded into walking through a raging storm to coerce a Captain with questionable sanity to get the bloody hell off his broom and come inside, which was never pleasant. It usually resulted in a huge screaming match, in which Oliver started ranting about Katie having no right to deter him from his responsibilities as Keeper and Captain and if he wanted to nearly kill himself fulfilling said responsibilities, he bloody well _would! _In the end, however, Katie could usually manage to get him to come down with threat of a hex or bribes of Chocolate Frogs, which Oliver loved almost as much as Quidditch.

As she approached the edge of the pitch, Katie prayed a Chocolate Frog would be the ticket this time. She had one in her pocket, and if she could just get him to _listen _to her, maybe he'd see reason. She shielded her eyes and peered up through the driving rain. She was just barely able to spot eight red blurs, and the frantic, distant figure of Oliver Wood darting hopelessly around three hoops.

Damn. She was going to have to drag him down, wasn't she?

Resolutely, Katie clambered onto her broom and took off, yelping as freezing water stung her face. _The prat better be grateful, _she thought irritably, though this seemed highly unlikely.

"WOOD!" she hollered, swooping over in his general direction. "_OLIVER WOOD, STOP BEING AN IDIOT!" _She drew her broom up sharply to avoid colliding with him, then shrieked and ducked as an insane Quaffle sped towards her head.

"Katie!" he said, for some reason surprised. "What—?"

"Oliver, this is mad!" Katie cried, swerving again as another Quaffle sailed towards her. "You'll get yourself killed up here! We all played horribly today, _not just you, _and it's no one's fault but this stupid weather's. Just come back to the castle, all right?"

"No!" Oliver responded predictably. "I'm Captain, Katie, and I've got responsibilities! If I can't play in this weather, what does that say about my skill?"

"Uh, that you're _human?_"

"No, it says that I'm a pitiful excuse for a Keeper and at this rate I'll disgrace the name of Gryffindor Quidditch forever!"

"You _moron_, it does not! Just come in, all right? You're going to—ACK!" A Quaffle hit Katie hard in the shoulder, which sent her flying off her broom, screaming embarrassingly shrilly.

"Katie—!" Oliver lunged for her, grabbing her arm.

_Well, _Katie thought grumpily, _this is sort of not going as planned. _

Indeed, she was now dangling meters and meters above the ground, Oliver Wood was nearly flat on his stomach, legs bracing against the broomstick as he used both hands to try to heave her up, and her shoulder was definitely bruised.

Bollocks, this was going to be a long day.

"This is all your fault!" Katie cried as a strained Oliver managed to pull her to his broom; her own broom was hovering nervously a few yards away. "These stupid Quaffles—_ouch!_" Yet _another _Quaffle hit her in the stomach, which nearly flung her from her half-seated position on the Captain's broom.

"It's your own fault for coming up here!" Oliver retorted angrily, grabbing her shoulders to keep her from falling again. "Here, get back on your broom, and go on down—"

"NO!" Katie twisted herself on the broom so she was facing Oliver. His face was red from anger and dripping water, and his soaked hair was sticking up in angles all over the place. She almost laughed before remembering she was supposed to be trying to stop him from killing himself. "Come down now!"

"Leave me alone! I'll go down when I please!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"I—ugh, I have a Chocolate Frog. Come down now, and you can have it."

"I DON'T CARE!"

"_Now, _Wood!"

"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!" Oliver roared, jabbing a finger at Katie desperately. "YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!" Katie blinked at him, tightening her hold on the bobbing broomstick (which she was sure was going to snap at some point from the unexpected extra weight).

"What are you, Oliver? Four?"

"Listen, you interfering, unbelievably pigheaded little—"

"Oh, _I'm _the pigheaded one? _I'm _not the one who's trying to refine my technique in the middle of a bloody thunderstorm, Oliver! This is—_OW!" _Katie was cut off once again by a rogue Quaffle, which this time had slammed in between her shoulder blades and shoved her forward further on the broom, which sent her sailing into Oliver, who had the presence of mind to brace himself with his legs again and grab her around the shoulders with one arm. With his free arm, he dispiritedly drew out his wand and yelled,

"_Immobulous!" _Promptly, all eight Quaffles froze, hovering in various positions before the goal hoops (one was even headed for Katie's head). Katie, who had her face pressed into Oliver's chest, grunted irritably.

"Nice of you to do that _after _I've gotten hit by a Quaffle eighteen million effing times!"

"It wasn't eighteen million," Oliver, ever Quidditch Captain Obvious, "it was only three. And if you'd just get back on your own broom, go back to the castle, and let me finish my training, then I'll forget this ever happened!" Katie jerked her head up to glare at him, and abruptly had to bite back a gasp. She hadn't realized quite how _close _she was to him—their faces were only centimeters apart, and she very abruptly was reminded exactly _why _she could so easily be coerced into flying on her broom in the middle of a _bloody thunderstorm _and get attacked by homicidal Quaffles, all to save Oliver Wood's stinking neck.

Why the hell did she have to fancy him so much?

It was probably a stupid thought to be having, considering the fact that Oliver's broom really wasn't built for two, thunder was booming, rain was pelting, hypothermia was likely approaching, and coffee back at school was undoubtedly getting cold, but Katie never had been very good at controlling her emotions.

He might be insane, but she couldn't help herself. He was tall and smart and interesting, he was good at Quidditch, he was probably the best bloke she knew, and he always listened to her when she needed to rant about something or other. He was observant and generally on the somewhat serious side; sarcasm merely confused him, and he was, as mentioned previously, prone to stating the obvious. He had neat, methodical handwriting, strategizing skills that no one could compete with, a knack for Charms, a trade-mark half-smile, and, if it wasn't already apparent, was stubborn as all get-out.

Katie loved it all.

Now, more than ever, she wished she had refused to come and find Oliver. She wished she had stomped back to the castle and left the twins or Angelina or Harry to deal with everything; she wanted to be inside in warm, dry clothes, drinking coffee and reading her new book in the common room by the fire.

She did not want to be sitting on Oliver Wood's broom, blinking back stinging rain, trying to convince him to regain sanity, and being reminded that she had fallen unbelievably, idiotically hard for him.

_Damn you, Wood. _

Anyways.

Back to Katie and her attempt at glaring.

"Listen," she managed, trying to draw away from him a little, "please, Oliver. This is—I really don't want you to get hurt out here, okay? It's not safe. It's thundering and lightning and this rain is going to freeze you to death and the Quaffles probably would have finished you off by now if they hadn't been so busy trying to do me in. I know you weren't happy with practice, but sometimes, we just have to let things go, all right?"

"I—well…" Oliver appeared to seriously be considering this. "This is getting a bit…well, _foolish_, isn't it?" Katie rolled her eyes. "Ok, completley and utterly stupid."

"At last, we agree."

"I suppose I could go in."

"You suppose?"

"All right, all right, I _will_." He paused. "Katie?"

"Yes?" She blinked at him, her blue eyes meeting his hazel ones.

"Why d'you…why are you the one who always comes after me?"

"I'm always outvoted."

"But you don't have to." The rain was almost deafening now and Oliver's voice was quiet, but somehow Katie could still hear every word.

"No, I don't," she agreed, "but I care about you, Oliver, and sometimes you get too…intense about things, you know?"

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, I do." His eyes were boring into hers, one hand was on her shoulder.

"Oliver?" Katie finally whispered.

"Yeah?"

"I'm cold."

"Oh—what? Merlin, Katie, I'm sorry. Me too, I'm cold too. I've kept you out here too long…let's go down." He wobblingly flew her over to her own broom, which she shakily clambered on to, and the pair of them dove towards the ground. Oliver Summoned the Quaffles, packed them all away, and then he and Katie tramped off towards the locker-rooms, Oliver apologizing all the way.

"It's _okay,_" Katie kept repeating, but he paid her no mind, babbling on about his stupidity and how he could've gotten the both of them killed and how he'd never do it again, not ever (Oliver, once he had been shaken out of his over-passionate bouts of insanity, was rather rational). "Oliver!" she cried as they both stripped down to their school uniforms. "Just drop it! Neither of us are dead, maimed, or hypothermic. This is nothing a hot shower and mug of coffee can't cure, all right?" He stopped mid-sentence, mollified. They both donned their cloaks again and made to head out to the castle when Oliver stopped in the doorway and turned to face her.

"Katie, did you know today's a Hogsmeade trip?"

"Actually, yes. If you'll remember, I was there when Fred and George complained about the practice that was right in the middle of it and then you re-scheduled for so early."

"Oh. Right." A pause. "Do—do you want to…erm, come with me to the Three Broomsticks? I'll make this whole thing up to you. Buy you a butterbeer."

Katie blinked at him, then grinned slyly.

"Oliver, are you asking me out on a _date_?"

"I—well…" His cheeks turned faintly pink. "I suppose I am."

"Is this because I risk life and limb to save your ruddy life every time you go mental? Because if it is, I'll just take your apology and leave it at that."

"Of course it's not just because of that!" Oliver said in affronted tones. "I…I like you quite a lot, Katie and I've wanted to ask you before this but I thought…" He shrugged helplessly. "I dunno, that you wouldn't want to come. But now..." Katie bit back a groan of embarrassment.

"Please tell me I'm not that obvious."

"No, no, it was just—wait, obvious about _what_?"

"I fancy you, Oliver," Katie said quietly, folding her arms and meeting his gaze firmly. Well, nobody ever said she liked to beat around the bush. "And yes, I'd love to go to Hogsmeade with you, so I'll meet you in the common room at noon." Oliver beamed, but she wasn't finished. "But here's the thing: we're on the same team and you're leaving this year and you can be an obsessive compulsive maniac, so I'm not entirely sure this is a good idea."

"Well," Oliver said, drawing a step or two closer, "what if I fancy you back?"

"Hm, Oliver, I dunno. I suppose it would make all my efforts to save you from Quaffles of death worthwhile, wouldn't it?"

"I suppose it would."

A pause. Katie, though she liked where this conversation was heading, was cold, tired, bruised, and had a date to get ready for. She was through with trekking through rain and arguing and witty banter, she _wanted her coffee_, and she was sure she looked like a drowned rat.

"So, are we just going to stand here and shiver, or are you going to kiss me?"

Oliver, possibly getting a bit chilly himself, seemed only too happy to oblige.

--

Fred glanced up from his game of Exploding Snap with George as the portrait hole swung open to admit a drenched Oliver and Katie, both sporting huge grins.

"You look like a drowned rat," George immediately informed Katie. "Bloody hell, go dry off."

"Watch how you talk to my girlfriend, Weasley," Oliver barked, trying to look stern and commanding but failing miserably, due to the fact that his idiotic smile had not disappeared.

"Well, do I—wait a moment. _Girlfriend?_" George's jaw dropped. "Oi, when did _this _happen?

"About ten minutes ago," Katie said shortly. "Now where's Alicia? She said she'd get me a coffee."

"You know Katie, when I said, 'Take it for the team,' I didn't mean _literally._"

"Shut up,git."

"You two were gone for an hour! Just what _were _you doing?" Fred demanded, sitting up and grinning, raising an eyebrow.

"The usual. Oliver wouldn't come down, some Quaffles almost killed me—"

"Don't exaggerate! You only got hit a couple of times."

"Oliver, I got knocked off my broom, I have bruises all over me, I'm wet, I _still haven't had my coffee, _and you just kissed me! I will exaggerate as much as I please, thank you very much!"

"You are the most impossible person in the entire world!"

"_Impossible? _You want to talk to me about _impossible?"_

"Well, this is certainly romantic," Fred observed dryly, watching the new couple bicker (smiles inexplicably still plastered across their faces).

"You owe me seven galleons," George reported disinterestedly, returning to the Exploding Snap. "You said they'd definitely hold out until the party after the final match."

"When I've got seven galleons, dear brother, you can have them."

"They placed bets on us," Oliver informed Katie, squinting in disbelief at the twins. "Bets!"

"Yes, that they did. Listen, I'm off for a bath. If you see Alicia, will you _please _get the coffee?"

"Sure."

"Thanks." She turned towards the stairs, then paused. "Oliver, I'm really glad you're such a maniac."

"And I'm really glad you're always outvoted."

Katie grinned, ignored the twins' revolted gagging, and headed off to her bath.

_Taking it for the team_, she thought with a chuckle. _Suppose I'm going to have to get used to that. _

_--_

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